


Be Still My Foolish Heart

by saintgenevieve



Series: The Grey Lady [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Five Times Plus One thing, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Kisses, but a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintgenevieve/pseuds/saintgenevieve
Summary: Five kisses Liadan Surana shared with the men who loved her, and one kiss she shared with the man she chose above all the rest.





	1. Anders

Liadan Surana’s first kiss was something of a surprise. She was small enough that most people, be they templar or mage, tended not to notice her. With her ink-dark hair and her height, it was easy for her to be lost in the shadows and overlooked. Anders never made her feel that way though.

He was a bit older than her, nineteen to her sixteen, but they were the only spirit healers under forty in the tower, so they spent a decent amount of time together. Anders, freshly Harrowed, was bent over a book, looking pensive. He was quite handsome, for a human—or so Liadan thought. Anders was interesting and funny and wild, and there was something about him that drew Liadan. Maybe she just liked blondes.

“You know…for all that the Chantry denounces blood magic, if you really think about it, they’re the biggest practitioners of it,” Liadan said, staring absently out of the tiny window and wishing she could see something other than the lake.

Anders looked up. “What?”

“Our phylacteries,” she explained. “They take some of our blood, put it in a bottle with who knows what else, and they can use it to track us if we run away. Sounds like blood magic, doesn’t it?”

Her friend threw his head back and laughed as though she’d said something outrageously hilarious. “Lia, you are a treasure!”

And then he’s across the room and she was in his arms and they were kissing. His mouth was warm against hers and his hands—when they came up to cup her face, fingers brushing against the lobes of her ears, making her shiver—were stained with ink. He tasted of elfroot, and smelled like the incense of awareness, and Liadan couldn’t help but throw her hands up into his golden hair and kiss him back.

She’d never been kissed before, but what she lacked in study, she made up for by a willingness to learn and enthusiasm. Anders guided her mouth with his, showed her how to move, her body curling up into his like a blooming flower. She was so gloriously soft, and he was so gloriously warm, and she’d never felt so—

“ANDERS! LIADAN!”

Wynne’s voice cut through the haze of desire better than a bucket of ice water and they jumped apart as though she’d electrocuted them. The older mage looked sternly at her students. “What in the Maker’s name do you two think you’re doing?”

Anders gave her the blithest stare he could summon, flushed and mussed as he was. “Studying, Senior Enchanter, what else?”

Wynne heaved a great sigh that spoke in depth of the long hours of lecturing she was working up to, so Liadan ran her fingers through her hair and decided she wasn’t in the mood today for Wynne’s ‘wisdom.’

“It won’t happen again, Senior Enchanter. I read a romance novel recently and asked Anders to kiss me because I was curious. He was just humoring me.”

“Well, then. See that it doesn’t.”

Anders escaped later that night, the fifth time he’d found a way out of the tower, much to the chagrin of the First Enchanter and the templars. When Liadan next saw him he was hollow-eyed, and there were deep lash marks on his back that would leave scars not even magic could completely erase. She made a promise to herself, sitting next to his cot, listening to the sound of his labored breathing, that she would protect him, she would always protect him—even if it had to be from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kind of like an in-depth look at my main warden, Liadan Surana, as I'm replaying Dragon Age: Origins. We begin with Liadan's first kiss in the Circle of Magi, and then continue on from there. I'm really excited to explore my warden like this and hope people enjoy reading it.


	2. Alistair

Alistair had never been happier. Here, lying in his tent with the woman he loved, stroking his fingers over the dark silk of her hair, her ear against his heartbeat, he was filled with a peace he’d never known before. But then, no one had ever made him feel so utterly loved and accepted. Only ever Liadan.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She giggled. “For what?”

“This.”

“What, the sex?”

Alistair snorted. “Well, yes, obviously that. But also…for wanting me, I suppose. Thank you for choosing me. I know I can be rather thick at times—Maker knows I’m not the brightest star in the sky—but you want me anyway, so I wanted to thank you for that,” he explained, wry and too self-deprecating for her liking. Then, as though sensing her displeasure, he tried to deflect. “You know, the people in our little party are going to talk.”

“First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn. And you don’t have to thank me, Ali, not for wanting you. You never have to thank me for that,” she said, voice full of emotion.

And with that, she surged up and over him and pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was soft but sure, and Alistair could taste some sort of sweetness on her tongue. Her bare skin was warm against his, and he kissed her back with everything inside him, passion making his blood boil. He tangled his fingers in her dark hair and pulled her closer. He wanted her as close as he could possibly get, and then closer still.

Finally, she pulled away and smiled down at him.

“I love you,” he murmured, gazing up into her face. She was so beautiful, her clear blue eyes full of affection. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her—no enemy he wouldn’t face to protect her, no risk he wouldn’t take at her command. He was hers, body and mind, heart and soul. He always would be.

And then his mind caught up with his mouth.

Liadan pulled away and sat up. He’d never felt her absence more keenly, never felt the loss of her warmth more horribly.

“That is…I mean…I…” He closed his eyes and hoped with every fiber of his being that he hadn’t just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“You love me?” she asked in a hushed voice full of wonder. “Are you sure?”

Alistair’s eyes popped open and he sat up too. “Of course, I’m sure!”

Her eyes shimmered and she flung her arms around him and tackled him into their bedroll, burying her face in his neck. She stayed like that for a long time, sniffling into his shoulder. He felt the hot prick of her teardrops like brands on his skin.

“I love you too. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be crying, but it’s been ages since anyone has said that to me—not since before I was taken to the tower. And you don’t love anything in the tower.” She drew back to look down at him, cupping his face between reverent palms. “Alistair, you are the _whole_ of my _heart_.”

If he was being honest with himself, Alistair almost wanted to cry too. “Liadan,” he breathed, almost beyond words.

But then she was kissing him again, and words didn’t matter at all. Not just then, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So part of Liadan's whole thing is that she's had to have this wall up between her and the rest of the world to keep herself from caring, and Alistair is the first person she's given herself permission to care about. He's cute in the same way a puppy is: eager to please and desperate for attention. I legit want to throttle all his parental figures for giving him such low self-esteem.


	3. Alistair

The Archdemon was dead. It lay in a rotting heap on the top of the tower, the sword Liadan had used to take the final blow still embedded as deep in its skull as she’d been able to plunge it. The darkspawn were defeated, the Blight over, and yet Liadan felt no joy, no relief. She was very tired as she looked out over Denerim, watching the darkspawn break ranks and flee, only to be cut down.

Beside her, Alistair stood tall, his armor spattered with blood and gore. And yet, even sweaty and stained from battle, he was still beautiful. It made her heart ache to look at him—it made her heart _ache_ to think that soon she would have to leave him.

“It’s finally over, isn’t it?” The question was soft, almost soft enough that the wind took it. But Liadan heard.

“I think so. I hope so.” She was so exhausted.

“Liadan, I…”

“Don’t. I already know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it—not yet. Just give me a moment of victory, Alistair. Let me pretend you’re not about to break my heart.”

He nodded, swallowing down his words. After a long moment, he slipped off his gauntlet and folded his fingers around hers. Her hand felt very small and very fragile in his—these hands that had just slain a corrupted Old God.

“I’m very angry with you, you know,” she finally said, her voice shaking a little. “Not for what happened with Morrigan; I knew it was the only way you could survive.”

“Me?” he asked, shocked.

She turned her head to look at him, eyes wide and dark and infinitely sad. “Don’t act like you would have allowed me to take the final blow if you’d known I would have died. I know you, Alistair. I couldn’t just let you die, not when I had the power to save you.”

“Liadan,” he said again, wishing desperately he was better with words, wishing he could comfort her, reassure her.

“I heard you talking to Eamon at Redcliffe,” she continued. “I know he’s told you to end our relationship. After all, Ferelden would never accept a mage as it’s queen, let alone an elf. You have to marry to advantage, not spend your time messing around with some common knife-ear.”

“I’m so sorry—” he began, wanting to explain himself, wanting to ease the pain in her eyes. But before he could say any more, she kissed him. Her mouth was hard against his, her kiss a battle all its own. She tasted of ash and blood and her tongue tingled with electricity, her mana still burning with power from all the lyrium potions she’d consumed over the course of the last few hours. He wrapped his arms around her, hauling her against the unforgiving metal of his breastplate.

After a small eternity of kissing, Liadan drew back, parting with a sharp, stinging nip to his bottom lip. She was flushed, gazing up at him with love and rage warring on her face. She wished she could scream at him, but she took a deep breath instead and squashed her fury down. It wasn’t his fault, not really. She was the one who had chosen him to be King of Ferelden. She’d known the possible consequences of that choice, but she’d done it anyway—hoping her beloved would lead Ferelden into the future.

She placed her palms flat against his breastplate and pushed him back. She lowered her eyes from his and seemed to examine her own face in the shining dragonbone. “I don’t want your apologies or your pity, my love.” She swallowed hard and met his eyes once more, gazing into his face with an intensity that made him wonder if she was trying to memorize the sight of him. “I hope you know it hurts me to leave you.”

“It hurts me, too,” he admitted.

Liadan took a painful step back from him and looked at him solemnly. “I wish we could have had more time.”

He nodded and took a step backward as well. Distance yawned between them; each step away from her more painful than the last.

The Blight was over, and with it, they had ended too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I love Alistair and I adore his romance route, but when I made him king for the first time as an elven mage and he tried to break up with me, I was furious. Like, Alistair basically does whatever Arl Eamon wants in a way that really annoys me, considering the shit way that particular father figure treated him. And Alistair probably wouldn't have wanted to leave my warden if not for Eamon's influence. I also don't think he would have done the break-up right after being crowned. I figured that he'd hope it could work out until Eamon tells him it won't.


	4. Zevran

Zevran found her a quarter of the way through a bottle of Antivan brandy—the most expensive bottle of it he’d ever seen. She had shed the fine robes she’d worn to Alistair’s coronation, and the subsequent feast, and was dressed only in a pair of thin leggings and a loose, too-large tunic that Zevran recognized as something she’d stolen from her human former-lover. Her dark hair had come loose from the braids she had put it in and pinned to her head and was a mass of wild darkness around her narrow shoulders. He had always thought Liadan a beautiful woman, but here and now, he found that the obvious grief and simmering rage at Alistair’s betrayal transformed her into a goddess, with lightning crackling through her raven locks.

“I see I have found the afterparty,” he purred, “My dear warden, why didn’t you offer me some of this fine brandy? It is from my homeland after all.”

Liadan rolled her eyes but held out the bottle for him obligingly, not moving too far from where she reclined on her couch. “Zev, come drink with me,” she invited, glad that she’d been caught brooding by him instead of Wynne or Leliana.

“I would be delighted.” He crossed the room and sank down onto the couch beside her. The fire in the hearth burned low but offered a delicious bit of warmth to ward away the ever-present chill in Ferelden. He took the proffered bottle and took a healthy swig. It warmed him as well as the fire and he sighed with contentment as he passed the brandy back to Liadan.

She took another drink, and they traded the bottle back and forth for a time in silence.

“He didn’t look at me once,” she finally said, something flat and terrible in her voice. “Not once. I’m Liadan Surana, the Kingmaker, the Hero of fucking Ferelden—I’m the one who put him on the damn fucking throne, and he didn’t even look at me once. Meanwhile, I had to watch those prissy noble girls fawn all over him in the hopes one of them might become his queen.” She covered her face with her hands.

Zevran took another swallow of brandy and then set the mostly empty bottle on the floor. “He looked at you as you left, amora, and the pain on his face was like a knife in the gut.” It probably wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was the truth, and he knew she appreciated that more than empty platitudes.

“I never loved anybody before him. When you’re in the tower, you don’t love anyone or anything. If you love something, the Templar’s can take it away, can use it to hurt you. And sure, there were people I wanted to protect, people I wanted to heal, but I never let myself love anyone before Alistair. And I thought he loved me too—I thought he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Zevran very gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face to look at him. In the light of the fire her eyes were very bright. “He made the same mistake that I made, the same mistake many men make: he chose duty over love.”

“Rinna?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Zevran, I’m so sorry.”

“Do not be. It is my burden to bear, amora. You cannot carry it for me.”

“No, I suppose I can’t,” she whispered. “But I can help distract you.” And with that she shifted herself into his lap, legs bracketing his, long hair falling around their faces in a dark curtain.

“My Liadan, you are drunk,” he said, as gently as he could, the alcohol in his blood making it hard to think with her so warm and so close.

“I’m a spirit healer, it takes twice as much alcohol to get me truly soused. My body processes it differently—it’s why I’m always able to drink Oghren under the table. I want this, Zev. I need to forget…just for a little while.”

“Then who am I to refuse you?” So, he leaned up and captured her mouth with his.

Liadan gasped into the kiss, pressing her body closer to his. He wound his fingers into her ink-dark hair and tugged gently to adjust their angle. His tongue stroked hers, and she moaned softly as his hand came up to cup one of her breasts through her shirt. He broke the kiss and explored her jaw and neck with his lips. He set his teeth against her throat to make her shiver, and in return, she dug her little nails into the meat of his shoulder and made him groan.

“Zevran,” she murmured, and he rose up to kiss her again, to taste his own name on her tongue—

And she sneezed violently, breaking the kiss, and sending her forehead crashing into his nose. He heard the crack, felt the gush of blood, and pain seared through him.

“Sorrysorrysorry!” Liadan was saying, raising her hands, already alight with healing magic to his face, and then the pain was gone, as though it had never been. She scrambled off his lap, tomato red with embarrassment.

Zevran reached up and covered his nose with his hand, fingers poking curiously at it. He looked up and met Liadan’s eyes and saw her wince. “What is it?”

“I, uh, didn’t set it right before I healed it. It’s a little…crooked. And if you want me to fix it, we’d have to break your nose again.” She sounded absolutely mortified, and Zevran was reminded that this fearless warrior goddess was also a nineteen-year-old girl who’d lived in a gilded cage for most of her life. 

“It’s alright, amora. I am too handsome for a simple broken nose to ruin my good looks. This just adds to my roguish charm.”

Liadan laughed. “Oh, Zevran, I’m so sorry. This is such a disaster…”

“Come here, my Liadan. You have perhaps ruined the mood, but we are still friends, are we not? Let us comfort each other.”

He held out his arms to her, and she sank into his embrace on the couch easily enough. She didn’t love him, he knew that. Her heart was still wholly Alistair’s, and she would have regretted it in the morning if they’d made love. So Zevran resolved to merely hold her and hope he didn’t die before she was ready to open her heart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my girlfriend and I discussed this chapter a lot before I wrote it. Like I read it aloud to her, and she loved the way I'd kind of used Zevran's poetic way of thinking to write the chapter and give it the feel it has. I always discuss my writing with her and she's so good at helping me when I'm stuck. The sneeze and the poorly healed nose were all her genius idea. Also, I would die for Zevran, and that is a threat.


	5. Anders

Darktown smelled like shit. Like shit and piss and human decay, and it was all Liadan could do not to turn around and find her way back to Lowtown for an ale or two before she had to make her way through the winding, stinking tunnels. But she persevered, and found her way to a little clinic, tucked into a corner, the worn wood of the doors peeling in places.

She knocked.

“Yes, yes, come in, Hawke,” Anders called from behind the doors. “You’re rather early, aren’t you? I’d have figured you’d still be at the Hanged Man, trying to convince Varric or Isabella to come with us to the Bone Pit today.”

Liadan slipped in as he spoke and took in her surroundings. Her old friend was wearing a worn, feathered coat, and his hair had been pulled haphazardly back from his face. The clinic wasn’t very well stocked, from what she could see, but she knew Anders was a gifted healer, and probably didn’t have enough money for herbs and poultices and potions very often. Magic was free, while ingredients had to be bought or gathered. His back was toward her, and he was flipping through some tome resting on a table.

“Who in their right mind would agree to go to someplace called the Bone Pit, Anders? That’s almost as bad as the Blackmarsh, and you recall what we had to deal with there, right?”

He inhaled quickly, shocked, and turned to face her. He was older, fine lines around his eyes and on his forehead, some silver in his blonde hair, his cheeks unshaved and too pale for him to be entirely healthy. “Liadan? Andraste’s knicker-weasels, Lia, what are you doing here?”

She moved forward and drew him into her arms. He was far too thin for her liking. “I came to see you,” she said, voice somewhat muffled by feathers. “I missed you.”

He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back. “Liadan, you shouldn’t be here. Kirkwall isn’t safe for mages.”

She shook him off and placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head to give him a _look_. “It’s not like the templars can lock up the Hero of Ferelden without consequence. And anyway, the Chantry has no power over the Grey Wardens; you know that. Besides, if Kirkwall isn’t safe for mages, then what are _you_ doing here?”

For once, he seemed to be at a loss for words. So, she decided to throw him a bone. “You _must_ know why I’m here. I’ve come to fetch you. Anders, it’s time for you to come home.”

His eyes hardened. “Is that an order, Commander?” There was something dark in his voice.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “It shouldn’t have to be. If it were any other warden, it would be. But you’re my friend, my shield-brother. Anders, you were the first human I ever trusted—the man I offered my virginity to. I’m not here as Warden-Commander Surana; I’m here as Liadan, someone who cares about you and wants you to be safe. Please, please, come back to Vigil’s Keep. Come home.”

“I can’t. Kirkwall _needs_ me.”

“The Grey Wardens _need_ you. I saved your life when I conscripted you, and you gave your oath of loyalty in return. And Justice also pledged himself to the cause when he was in Kristoff’s body. You both _owe_ me.” Her tone was adamant.

Justice rumbled to the surface, glowing cracks opening up all over Anders. “Kirkwall is burdened with _injustice_. We must free the mages from the unjust imprisonment of the templars. We must end the unjust Circles. We cannot leave until we do.”

“Justice, let me talk to Anders. Now!”

“I am Anders,” the abomination that had once been her closest friend roared.

So, Liadan did the only thing she could. She surged up, catching his face between her hands and pulling his mouth down to hers. Justice receded at the rush of very human desire Liadan awakened in Anders, the human’s lust foreign and unsettling to the spirit. Liadan fisted a hand in Anders honey-colored hair and arched into him as she had often done when they’d conducted their trysts in the tower.

After several long moments spent in a passionate embrace, Liadan slipped out of his arms. She was shaking, afraid for her oldest friend who had come dangerously close to losing control.

He was panting, spooked by what he’d almost done.

“What have you done to yourself, Anders?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered brokenly.

“I promised myself once that I would take care of you—that I would protect you both from the templars and your own foolishness. But I don’t think I can save you from yourself, Anders. I’m sorry I can’t save you.” And with that, she turned around a walked out of the clinic, unable to look at him for a moment longer.

She passed by a human woman with blood-red kaddis streaked across the bridge of her nose. She stopped, remembering Stroud’s recruit Carver Hawke and the description he’d given her of his sister. “Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall?”

The woman stopped, as did the dwarf and the elf with her, taking up positions on either side of her. “Yes?” she answered warily.

“I’m Liadan, an old friend of Anders.”

“Liadan? As in Liadan Surana?”

The elven woman nodded. “I would ask a favor of you, Champion.”

“Anything,” Hawke said without hesitation.

“Be wary of Anders and Justice. Much as I hate to admit it, they’re dangerous. Anders has always been angry, but now…” she trailed off.

“I’ll do my best to protect him,” Hawke said carefully.

“Well then...I wish you better luck than I had.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Anders as a character both interests and annoys me. Because on one hand, he's got so much potential. He's the second non-monster person we've met who hosts a spirit and he's also a rebel trying to end an oppressive system. I don't care that he blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, mostly because the Chantry fucking sucks, but it was a dumb way to launch a revolution. Like, so many mages died because he was a dumbass. And on the other hand, he's a flawed individual who lives in an actual sewer and says really insensitive stuff sometimes. I like Awakening Anders way more than DA2 Anders, and that is a hill I am more than willing to die on.


	6. Zevran

The party was in full swing by the time Zevran was able to sneak into the palace—all of Denerim celebrating the long-awaited marriage of King Alistair Theirin. The new queen (a pretty noble girl with wide hips and a clever face) and the king sat side by side in their thrones, the bride looking happy and the groom looking…content. He didn’t seem unhappy, at least, and Zevran hoped his old friend would find joy in being a husband and, eventually, a father.

Hiding in the shadows, he watched Liadan approach the dais. Of course, the Hero of Ferelden was in attendance—the Arlessa of Amaranthine could hardly miss her liege lord's wedding. She was as beautiful at thirty as she’d been at nineteen—the deep blue dress she wore, embroidered with designs of dancing, silver dragons, swishing around her legs as she moved. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face with two silver combs, and her eyes were as bright and clear and entrancing as ever. He’d missed being in her magnetic presence.

She curtsied before the royal couple. “Congratulations, Your Majesties.”

Alistair rose. “You don’t have to bow to me, Liadan.”

She grinned. “You sure? Whatever will the nobles think?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He took another step toward her. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I would never have missed it. And, I’ve brought you a gift.” She held out a small vial full of red liquid.

“You found it,” he breathed. He took the flask with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t easy, but it’s done. And use it to be happy, Alistair.”

“You’ll be happy too, won’t you?”

Liadan gave her former lover a warm look. “I’ll do my best.”

And then she slipped back into the crowd, and another well-wisher mounted the dais, desperate to curry favor from the King. She navigated the press of people expertly, giving someone a greeting here, a smile there, mingling flawlessly with these people who would have hated her on principle if not for the fact that over a decade prior she’d saved them all from an unspeakable fate. An elf, a mage, therefore an outcast, and yet also a hero of legend and one of the most powerful women in Ferelden.

A delicious dichotomy, a meeting of opposites, that was his Liadan. Full of love and fear, dangerous and extraordinarily kind, wise and somehow naïve. Zevran followed her path with his eyes, waiting until she’d slipped out onto a balcony before moving from his hiding place and slipping through the crowd. He hoped she’d be glad to see him, even after so long with no letters, him busy killing Crows and her searching for a cure to the very Blight itself.

And then there she was, gazing out over the city she’d saved so many years ago, leaning against the railing. Zevran slid forward, quiet as a cat, and settled himself next to her, their shoulders touching.

She smiled but didn’t look at him. “I knew you were here; I could feel you watching me.”

“I have always liked to look at you, my Warden.”

Liadan laughed and caught his eyes with hers. “Flatterer.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Never.” She took a deep breath and laid her hand over his own. “Listen, Zevran, I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For using you.”

Shock seared through him. “Liadan—”

“Love has always been complicated for me. In the tower, I had Anders, but I could never love him. I knew he was reckless and foolish, and though I tried to protect him, I couldn’t love him. And then with Alistair…I wanted more from him than he could give me. I let myself love him, only to have to let him go. And you…oh Zevran, can you ever forgive me?” There were tears shimmering in her eyes, sliding down her fair cheeks, gilded in the moonlight.

“Liadan, amora, I don’t understand.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, hiding her face in his shoulder. He returned the embrace, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. “I didn’t love you until it was too late—didn’t realize until it was too late, and you were gone. You deserved better from me; you deserve to be _loved_, Zev, and I’d do it. I’d love you if you’d let me.” She pulled away, just a bit, and peered into his face. “Would you let me love you, Zevran Arainai?”

“Only if you will let me love you in return, my Liadan.” And with that, he leaned down and kissed her, raising his hands to bracket her face, delighting once again in the warmth of her mouth and a press of her body against his. He had spent so long _yearning_ for her, and now here she was, her arms open and her heart full of love.

“I didn’t think this would ever be possible,” she whispered, breaking the kiss and pressing her forehead to his.

“Nor did I,” he admitted. “I thought I would have to die first. Liadan, you must know how much I love you, how deeply and truly and utterly I am yours. I would have spent an eternity waiting for you.”

She beamed at him, her eyes brighter than any star in the sky, and leaned up to kiss him again. Here, bathed in moonlight, kissing the woman he loved, Zevran felt at peace for the first time in his life. He was in awe that she’d chosen him, _him_, a rogue, a liar, a thief, an assassin. Somehow, he’d managed to steal her heart, and he was never letting her go. Never.

Finally, he pulled away. “Shall we go dance, amora? I’d quite like to show those stuffy Ferelden nobles a thing or two. We shall certainly scandalize Arl Eamon if I show you an Antivan tango.”

Liadan giggled. “How could I refuse?” She kissed him one more time, brief and sweet. “I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces!”

Together they walked back into the hall, arm in arm, hearts burning bright and true and full of love. There was hope yet for the future now—not a happy ending, but a joyful beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized about this chapter for ages before actually sitting down to write it. For a long time, I thought Liadan should end up with Alistair, but I eventually came to the conclusion that they wouldn't be best suited for each other in the long run. Zevran understands Liadan better, and is better able to give her what she needs. Anyway, I know this chapter is super cliche. I'm aware. I'm just a hopeless romantic and that's the whole story.


End file.
